


Dark Necessities

by mouschie



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Dean is a virgin, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:16:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouschie/pseuds/mouschie
Summary: Dean is a 30 year-old virgin, coming to grips with why his sex life has always been sofuckingdefective. He thinks he discovers more than he wants to know, and isn't quite sure if he can turn back.





	Dark Necessities

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be updated as new chapters are added.

Dean Ambrose is a 30 year-old virgin.

It’s a fact – one which would have most men shaking their heads at the concept of almost half an entire lifetime without some type of physical closeness. By that age, most of those aforementioned men already had their sample of every slick hole in town and finally thought about settling down. 

Dean hadn’t even gotten started. 

Sure, he’d been close to women, but that was all. Hell, his first kiss was at age 11 beneath the bleachers with some little blonde girl he didn’t even know. Puberty hit him like a bus right before high school, and he’d lock himself in his bedroom for two hours with the same wrinkled copy of Playboy. Beyond self-pleasuring and occasionally scoring a couple of drunk make-out sessions per year, the closest he ever got to undressing a woman was with his eyes. 

And he was perfectly okay with that. 

Years of pent-up sexual frustration worked to his advantage when he began wrestling. The dormant urges and desires transformed him into an entirely different creature inside of the ring. They allowed him to don the mask of this lunatic persona, bug-eyed and hungry for blood. 

Sometimes, he felt more comfortable that way. 

Regardless, his followers devoured this crazed alter-ego, and it never failed to attract women with no limits and everything to offer. They were practically throwing himself at him left and right, begging to be, “punished,” and “violated,”. While this promise of eager women born to please sounded appealing, it still didn’t do anything for him. 

Was he defective? Was there a flaw in his code? Dean knew he was destined to get the short-end of the stick in any given situation – but this? Betrayed by his own hormones?

It took a record-breaking 31 years for Dean Ambrose to discover what _really_ made him tick. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

His step into self-discovery was more like a plunge into frigid Arctic water, which began innocently enough with a casual night out. 

Dean Ambrose was hunched over in his barstool and downing a second pint of beer, because he was absolutely _determined_ to end this day on a good note. No exceptions. He refused to waste an entire afternoon shooting SmackDown recordings without some type of compensation from Daniel Bryan and his shenanigans. 

And - what the hell - of course he’d invite some friends! He refused to be the lonely, scuzzy guy at the bar. Just because he was a virgin, didn’t mean he had to make it blatantly obvious. Naturally, he was elated when Seth, Roman, Triple H, and Jimmy Uso agreed to the, “bonding” time. 

Always the one to be starved for luck, he should have known better. _God_ , he really should have known better. This situation – downing alcohol while Jimmy went on about embarrassing shit his brother did when they were little – was too perfect. 

Four pints of beer in, and Dean was getting too buzzed to care about what if's. He hardly registered Triple H leaving to shoot pool, before he left entirely with a wobbling Jimmy on his arm. Sandwiched between his two favorite boys, he drunkenly hummed along to the tune of Sweet Home Alabama, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the table. 

Maybe, if not for his drunken state and hazy mind, everything could have been avoided. 

But, no. 

The young brunette with a ponytail and honey-sweet smile _had_ to compliment Roman on his hair. Her voice was so high-pitched and her personality was so infuriatingly bubbly, this conversation absolutely wouldn’t last. 

“I give him two minutes ‘fore he tells her to scram,” Dean had leaned over, whispering to a distracted and too-sober, Seth. 

“The real Roman? Sure. The drunk-as-a-skunk-ready-to-fuck Roman?” Seth paused, fiddling with his phone, “Not so positive about that, man.” 

Dean marinated in his buzz for a good half-hour, pounding another half-pint in hopes of drowning out the conversation beside him. He slid his eyes over just enough to notice the girl was sitting against Roman, leaning a little too close, talking a little too hushed. His grin was wolfish, predatory, and exactly what this girl wanted. 

For some sick, twisted reason, Dean just _couldn’t_ look away.

He couldn’t look away as this girl wrapped herself around Roman, fingers tangled into his hair. He couldn’t glance away from his face, tinged with pink, as it pressed too closely into hers. Although Dean couldn’t see their mouths touching, through the white noise of the bar, he could make out the low rumbling in Roman’s throat. He swallowed hard. 

It was like watching a pornography, except all he could focus on was Roman. 

Dean couldn’t have cared less about the milky white skin of her exposed thighs, the pressing of her C-cup tits into Roman, or how he could just barely see her tongue practically fucking his mouth. 

“Hey, Romeo! You two need a room?” Seth called jokingly, loud enough to startle everyone, including Dean. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for Seth in that moment, or punch him in the throat. 

But he was painfully hard. 

If there was anything Dean hated, it was blue-balls. He knew the couple would at least linger a little while longer, and Roman _wouldn’t fucking stop_ looking at her like she was a piece of meat. 

No, he certainly wasn’t going to sit in the bleachers and tolerate another round of cock-teasing. Dean excused himself with a huff, blaming it on a need to piss out his weight in beer. 

The bathroom itself was humid and stuffy, and the absence of toilet paper almost diminished his desire completely. When he conjured up the image of Roman’s hands and the endless possibilities of where they could explore, Dean practically forced himself not to cum right then. He almost forgave the pathetic state of the small, disgusting room. 

Hurriedly, he unbuckled his belt and tugged himself out of his worn jeans. A sigh of almost relief escaped him, shuddering as his fingers slid skillfully from his base to his soft head at an even pace. When he thought of Roman’s touch instead, his cock twitched in agreement, clear pre-cum dribbling from the tip. Heat coils itself inside of Dean’s stomach, needy and urgent for release. 

He begins fucking his hand, hips raising from their position on the toilet seat to meet the vice-like strokes. His jeans lay pooled around his ankles and he doesn’t _care_ about how fucking dirty this is. It doesn’t even take him five minutes, he’s so fucking desperate for this newfound, twisted sexual attraction to his best friend. 

Dean arches his back and lets out a trembling, heavy breath to the ceiling. With his head thrown back, he comes messily into his hand as the other grasps a handful of greasy brown hair. 

“Shit,” he whispers, grimacing at the trail of slick, transparent white on his hand. He shakes it off, and wipes anything else on his jeans.

Maybe later, he’ll find the time to regret all of this. He was more focused on tucking his sticky, now flaccid length back into his boxers, hoping he didn’t look like he just jacked off in a filthy pub bathroom. Though, in the end, he doesn’t suppose it’ll surprise anyone. 

The hardest part, Dean recalls, is when Roman found out.


End file.
